Mighty eagle! thou that soarest
O'er the misty mountain forest,
And amid the light of morning
Like a cloud of glory hiest,
And when night descends defiest
The embattled tempests’ warning!
ROSE-SHEATHED beside the rosebud tongue
Lurks the young adder's tooth;
Milk-mild from new-born hemlock-bluth
The earliest drops are wrung:
And sweet the flower of his first youth
When Michael Scott was young.
The only response
to a child's grave is
to lie down before it and play dead
Mind has been burnt in love,
the branches of shimul* tree covered with flowers;
I sense the advent of spring that had appeared
in the age of ice.
* silk-cotton
And Millar, Poet of Sierras,
For bold deeds he doth prepare us.
ZAP!
unlaid / 20 days
How bright and brave they look, shouldering five-foot rifles
On the parade ground lit up by the first gleams of day.
China's daughters have high-aspiring minds,
They love their battle array, not silks and satins.
A crust of mountain for breakfast
with a smear of dew to wash it down,
a torn cotton robe against the wind.
His name burnt out, Milarepa sings to himself
as he travels the centuries.
Com cinco pães o Cristo
Deu de comer a cinco mil pessoas!
Eu não me assombro disto,
Pois tu, que o meu espírito magoas,
Tens um só coração,
E amas, contudo, uma população!
If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts' cage;
If Right made Might, this were the golden age;
But now, until we win the long campaign,
Right must gain Might to conquer and to reign.
